All's Fair
by sightsofsummer
Summary: Reworked version of my previous (and never finished) story, Savage Love.
1. Chapter 1

"I want to toss my panties at him. Oh, I'm such a cliché, but he's so hot! I'm Penny Lane, I'm Plaster Caster!" Gabrielle jumped up and down, beckoning me to look closer at Louis XIV's lead singer, as if I wasn't already as mesmerized by his handsomeness – actually, beauty would be a better word – as the rest of the women in this concert hall. I laughed. All around us tonight I'd heard girls yelling and calling out for attention and, I hadn't failed to notice, multiple girls _had_ actually thrown their panties or bra. I couldn't deny it: Luca Chevalier was probably the hottest guy in existence. He was better live than in recordings in every single way – musically, lyrically, physically.  
Gabrielle let out a deep sigh. "He's my future husband. I wish they weren't almost done… let's try to sneak backstage!" She pulled on my arm while smiling wickedly at me. "Aw, please?"  
Just as I started to tell Gabrielle we'd have to get her some water, the first notes of _Wreath_ – Louis XIV's biggest hit – sounded and the crowd prepared to sing along. I swung my arm around Gabrielle's shoulder and pulled her close. We'd been looking forward to this night for so long that I still couldn't totally believe we were finally here.

"That. Was. _Amazing._ " I plopped down on the faded velvet barstool and rested my head on my hand. "Can you pinch me?" Gabrielle poked my side. I jerked and giggled. "Okay, it was real."  
The bartender set two glasses of water in front of us and we thirstily gulped it down. We'd been singing, no, _shouting_ along the whole night without drinking anything other than cheap wine. I'd probably be feeling that tomorrow and would barely be able to speak. Good thing I'd only planned a long Netflix session in bed.  
"Oh, Emma." Gabrielle put her head on my shoulder. "What do you think Luca is doing right now?" she asked dreamily.  
I snorted while waving the bartender over. "Do you really have to ask what a rock star does in his dressing room after a show? Two Woo Woos, please."  
"Aww, but he doesn't seem like that type of rock star! I'm sure he's just sitting there, eating only brown M&Ms or whatever his ridiculous dressing room demands are, and… Oh, thank you."  
The bartender shook his head, smiling, when I reached for my handbag. "They're already paid for. Thank Mr. Muscle over there."  
I followed his nod to a guy who barely did that nickname justice. He was somehow the biggest, tallest and most muscular man I had ever seen, yet in no way looked like the pumped-up bodybuilders I often saw at my cheap gym – he was much leaner, as if he was just naturally that jacked. He looked intimidating and arrogant and completely disconnected from the crowd around him – mostly women wrestling themselves closer to this man who was terrifyingly imposing but also so incredibly, _fiercely_ attractive. His wavy brown hair was cut short, drawing attention to his sharp cheekbones and angular jaw. His shoulders were so broad that his blue shirt seemed to strain at the seams as he moved to lift his glass of whisky, as if to say cheers.  
I hadn't realized I had been staring and felt heat rising to my face. Quickly, I tried to hide the blush by raising my own glass, but he had clearly already seen it – the corner of his mouth tugged upwards, bringing a strange sense of accessibility to that commanding face.  
"Just so you know," I heard the bartender say softly, "he'd been looking at you since the moment you sat down. Looked like he was struck by lightning, really. But don't tell him I told you that." He chuckled, then went to serve another customer.  
Gabrielle was elbowing my ribs, clearly trying to be subtle about it but failing miserably. She really didn't need that cocktail, come to think of it. " _Emmaaaaa._ _Look_ at that guy."  
"I am looking. Stop it!" I hissed. "He _totally_ saw that. He _knows_ we're talking about him." I quickly turned my back to the giant and took a sip from my Woo Woo. It was pretty strong – the vodka taste burned my throat.  
Gabrielle, meanwhile, was looking at something behind me, then over my shoulder, then… "Oh, Emma, I'm going to find the restroom. Bye!" In a second, she was gone.  
I looked up and nearly spit out my drink. The man was next to me now and he was so tall that, sitting down, I actually had to strain my neck to get a good look at his face.  
"So. Emma."  
I looked away. I'd met alpha dogs before, but this guy was in a whole other league. "Yyyep. Emma."  
"I'm Noah." He held his hand, and I tried not to give him a limp hand back – although, strangely, his hold wasn't as strong as I expected. "Here for the show or the cocktails?"  
"The show. But thanks for this." I looked back at him – he'd sat down on Gabrielle's barstool – and gestured to the drink.  
A smile. An actual, happy, dazzling smile. His eyes were a warm brown, almost chestnut, that didn't fit the rest of him. "It's my pleasure. I couldn't help it… You looked so out of place with your water. Unless it wasn't water you were downing?" He raised an eyebrow.  
I chuckled. "It was time for my friend, and me too honestly, to switch it up a little. But I see you want to get us drunk."  
He lifted a hand, protesting with a smile, "Hey, it was you who ordered those drinks. I'm just making sure you don't go home broke."  
"Fine, you got me." I smiled. At a little distance I spotted Gabrielle, talking to some guy but looking over every once in a while.  
"Do you have a last name, Emma?" I looked back to find Noah looking at me intently, as if my answer to that question would make or break this night.  
"Depends on what you're going to do with that information," I joked and took a sip from my cocktail.  
His stare broke with a chuckle. "I don't know. It just seems appropriate to know a lady by her full name."  
"A lady, hmm?" I leaned ever so slightly closer to him. "It's Sawyer."  
"Emma Sawyer." He appeared to be processing this, to be storing my name safely into his memory. So serious.  
"What about you, though? Or are you just Noah?"  
A grin spread across his face. He took a tiny break for dramatic effect before answering. "Chevalier."  
"That name sounds fami…. _Holy shit!_ " I set my glass on the bar so hard I almost broke it. "You're kidding! That's… that's a coincidence, right?"  
"What is?" he asked innocently. That tone didn't match his deep voice. None of his behavior matched the way he came across, really.  
"You're… No, you _can't_ be related. You don't even really look alike." I tilted my head to get a good look at him. I didn't mind doing that – I realized I was being envied by a _lot_ of girls around this bar just for talking to him.  
"I know. Luca's my older half-brother." He was speaking just loud enough for me to hear now. Clearly, he didn't want people to know he was basically _with the band_.  
"Why aren't you backstage?" I asked at a similar volume.  
He shrugged. "Been there so many times. Besides…" He held up his drink. "I'm having a pretty good time here."  
I blushed despite myself and was about to mirror his cheers, when I saw Gabrielle frantically signaling at me with wide eyes over the guy's shoulder. "Oh, shit," I muttered and jumped off the barstool. Time to save my best friend from an overeager flirt.  
The crowd parted in front of me and it wasn't until I looked back over my shoulder that I realized why. Noah had followed me. And good thing he had – the guy wasn't just flirting with Gabrielle; he was grabbing her butt and pulling her closer when she tried to get away. Noah marched forward and grasped the guy's shoulder. The guy swung around, ready to throw a punch, when with a shock he saw Noah's size and seemed to shrink even more in comparison. In no time, however, the guy's friends were around us. Noah was outnumbered six to one.  
He turned to us, still holding the guy's shoulder. "Ladies, time to go," he said brusquely, all the niceness of just two minutes earlier having left his voice and face.  
I looked at the threatening men around him, then back into those warm eyes. He nodded, and we turned around to leave the bar. It wasn't until we were safely in a taxi that I realized I never got Noah's number.


	2. Chapter 2

_Luca Chevalier (born June 17, 1984) is a singer, songwriter and multi-instrumentalist. He is best known as the lead singer of rock band Louis XIV…_  
I scrolled down to 'Early life.' Sure, some bits about his parents, his education, some family moves… then, I found his siblings. Wow, he had a lot of them – and he wasn't the only famous one. I quickly found out his half-sister Sophia was well known in academia and that he had an activist twin sister. Finally, I found the name I'd really been looking for.

 _…younger half-brother Noah, Royal Army captain…  
_ That probably explained the insane physique. I wasn't sure, since I didn't know anyone in the military, and I had no idea if I should be impressed by that rank. He couldn't be much over thirty, if even that, I figured.  
"What are you _doing_ , Emma?"  
I glanced at Gabrielle, next to me on the couch. She'd stayed over after the concert and had been reading a book, but now eyed my computer screen skeptically.  
"Wikipedia? What do you expect to find _there_?" she asked, sounding sarcastic but smiling.  
"It was worth a try," I replied stubbornly. "I haven't heard _you_ come up with any better ideas."  
She shrugged into the pillow she was practically buried into. "I don't know. You've already checked the list of attendees at the concert, right?"  
"Yeah." I sighed, defeated. "But of course he wouldn't put it online. He was sort of secretive about how they're related."  
"Can't you just e-mail ?" Gabrielle started to laugh. "I bet that's the address they'd use."  
I lamely threw a small pillow at her face. "I can't deal with your jokes today, Gab, my head hurts too much."  
Gabrielle pouted. "Lightweight. Can't wait to see you deal with the two-day hangovers."  
I bit my lip. "It's not just that. I'm worried, you know… There's no way that ended well for him." I sat up. "Wait. I'm so stupid!"  
"What?" Gabrielle frowned.  
Of _course_. How could I not have thought of this before? "The fight. I could just call the club, see if they can tell me anything about that fight… I mean, if he lost, then surely they'd have talked to him?"  
"And if he won, the police is next on your call list."

"Hey, Emma?"  
"Huh?" I quickly looked up. I'd been staring at my computer screen for what felt like years.  
"Did you see the e-mail I sent you?" Sarah, my second-to-least favorite coworker, ticked her nails on my desk. "The one from, what, thirty minutes ago?"  
"Oh…" I clicked on my e-mail program and saw that a flood of new messages had come in, including Sarah's. I'd been zoned out, occasionally – fine, much more than occasionally – checking my phone for any updates, updates that I knew weren't coming because I hadn't actually called the club yet. I told myself that was because they probably weren't opened on Sundays and Mondays, but I knew I was simply nervous.  
"So?" Sarah asked impatiently. "Can you send me that document, yes or no? I need it, like, yesterday."  
"Yeah, fine. Sure. I'll send it right away." I started mentally dozing off as soon as Sarah turned on her heel and walked away, but snapped myself awake for just long enough to send Sarah the file that honestly didn't seem all that important.  
Just as I finished reading all my new e-mails and was trying to decide what news site to read next, my phone buzzed. Gabrielle was texting me, firing one text after another in quick procession.  
 _Just got an e-mail from the club talking about a big fight right after the Louis XIV concert!  
They're looking for people who were there and might know people involved because apparently two guys are in the hospital  
Something about insurance etc  
Sounds like your guy has something to do with this?  
Should I call them and say you know his name?_  
I didn't open the texts yet, just watched them come in on the locked screen. If two guys were in the hospital… then either Noah had somehow been able to fight off some guy, _hard_ , and then been beaten up by the rest, or he had beaten up two of them _all on his own_. Even though I knew the former was much more likely, my gut feeling told me Noah had gotten two grown men in the hospital. I wasn't sure I wanted to be associated with that – so I needed to figure out what had happened before I'd let Gabrielle make that call.

Barely five minutes later I was on the phone.  
"Club Aurora, can I help you?"  
"Oh, hi, I'm calling about the concert on Saturday… I mean, that fight afterwards. The one you e-mailed about?"  
"Were you there?" I heard the girl on the other end of the line cover the phone, then some chairs scraping.  
"I um…" I quickly debated how much to tell them. "I was there right when it was about to start, but didn't see the actual fight. What happened?"  
"We're not entirely sure. It happened really fast. That's why we need more people to tell us." The girl's voice seemed farther away now. I was pretty sure I was on speaker. "The big guy got jumped by six men, but before the bartender and bouncer could get there through the crowd, he'd thrown two on the ground, broken someone's nose, twisted an arm, punched the last two in the face and unconscious and disappeared from the club. Do you know anything about him?"  
Wow. That sounded like a crazy action movie scene. I could imagine Noah easily overpowering one or two guys, but this… this sounded like something _way_ beyond military training. Even so, it was impossible that he got out of there without a scratch. "Um, no… I'd never seen him before. Don't you have security cameras?"  
"We do," a man's voice jumped in, "but the system isn't working properly. Had to happen today, of course. Could you let us know in case you hear anything else?"  
"Yeah, sure." I hung up. There was no way Gabrielle was going to let them know we were in any way involved. If I was going to get information, and find out if he was somehow okay, I was going to do it on my own.

I still had one option left that I hadn't tried. It was a long shot and, in all honesty, a little embarrassing, but it was the best I could come up with at the moment. I would get to Noah through his brother Luca. Luca, the world-famous singer. Luca, the man thousands of girls dreamed about. Luca, the guy who probably got tons of weird messages on social media every day and who probably didn't even read them.  
 _New Direct Message._ I started typing, removing and rewriting the message at least seven times before I hit send.  
 _Hi Luca, this message isn't about you._ I figured I'd make that clear from the get-go – if my message differed from all his fan mail, maybe he'd _actually_ open it.  
 _I met your brother Noah at Club Aurora the other night (my name's Emma Sawyer, hopefully he remembers) and we talked before he got into this fight. I was wondering if he's okay. Thanks! Emma. PS: your concert was awesome!_  
And so the waiting game began.

It took almost a full week before I heard from Luca. Although I'd checked my inbox at least seven times an hour and had the sensation of my phone vibrating constantly when it really didn't, by the end of the fifth day I was sure I wouldn't get any reply. I didn't want to give up (and why was I even so set on this? I had no rational explanation) but I had no idea what other way to get in contact with Noah. All I had was a name and a couple of family members whose e-mail addresses I hadn't been able to find either.  
On the sixth day, as I got off the bus, my phone buzzed with a new message.  
 _Hi Emma! Glad you had a good time :) Noah is fine but he wants to talk to you. Could you give me your #?  
_ The message sounded so normal – like I was texting with the barista from the coffee shop around the corner. I sent him my number before I could get a chance to get nervous about it.  
 _PING!_ My phone buzzed again, this time with a new text message, while I was walking up the stairs to my apartment. My heart jumped – what was that about? – but I fumbled with my keys to open the door. It couldn't be Noah yet anyway. Barely five minutes had passed.  
Once inside I dropped my keys on the counter and got my phone out of my pocket, lightning-fast. _Hi Emma, it's Noah._ I grabbed the phone tighter for no reason at all. _Happy you found me. Can I take you for a drink tonight?_


	3. Chapter 3

_Come on. Calm down. You've been on dates before. Wait, this isn't a date._ I nervously drummed my fingers on the side of my leg, looking around the bar and then studiously staring at the drinks menu without reading a single word. _Or is it a date? No. Nooo. Not a date. Just here for information._ I stole a quick look around again. The bar wasn't very full. It was a pretty standard Sunday night crowd. One table over was a small group of girls having cocktails, clearly postponing the end of the weekend as much as they could; next to them, a couple playing a board game I used to play with my family. But where was Noah? It was already ten minutes past the time we would meet up and – _Oh, come on, ten minutes. That doesn't matter because it's not,_ not _a date. You wouldn't want to go on a date with a guy who gets in bar fights._  
"Hi, Emma Sawyer." Noah was suddenly right in front of me, looking down at me from his ridiculous height with a cocky but kind smile on his face. His hair looked damp. "Sorry I'm a little late – that rainstorm started _right_ when I left home and it's like heaven burst. I had to run for shelter." He shrugged off his brown leather jacket and sat down across the table. The wooden furniture looked comically small with him on it.  
"That's okay," I nodded. "I haven't ordered yet. Figured I'd wait for you."  
He smiled at me again, a smile that despite his rough edges was so appealing I actually felt physically uncomfortable. How did this guy manage to be intimidating, graceful and accessible at the same time? I felt like I was sitting across from a bigger, deeper-voiced modern-day version of Marlon Brando. "Thanks," he said, "I'll get it. What do you want to drink?"  
"Uh, chardonnay, please?" I was suddenly hyper-aware of myself and everything I said. He seemed to notice – his glance lingered on me for a long second before he nodded and got up to walk to the bar.  
When Noah returned with my wine and a beer I quickly set down the coaster I'd been flipping between my hands. I clinked my glass against his, looking him in the eye for good luck, and took a big sip.  
He watched me, amused. "You okay, Emma? You seem a little tense."  
With that, my body suddenly released itself. Maybe it was because he seemed contagiously relaxed; maybe it was that smile and that sparkle in his eyes. I didn't know, but I didn't particularly care – I was just glad not to feel so nervous and intimidated. I laughed with him. "I'm good. Thanks. More importantly… how are you? There's not a scratch on you."  
"Yeah… it wasn't that bad. Whatever scratches I had are all healed now."  
I frowned. "You're saying you barely got hurt? Even though you got jumped by six guys and two of them are in the _hospital_? I talked to the club, you know."  
He shrugged. "I'm saying that club's making a much bigger deal out of this than they need to. Those two men were at the ER for three hours at most."  
"They told me you broke someone's _nose_. That sounds like a pretty big deal."  
Noah looked at me, gauging my reaction briefly before grinning. "You've never seen a bar fight before, have you?"  
"But you've clearly been _in_ one before." I raised an eyebrow. "More than once, judging from the way you're talking about it."  
He swirled his beer around the glass for a second, reviving the foam, and took a sip. "I'm a soldier. Did I tell you about that?"  
He hadn't, of course, but then I'd already read that online. But there was no way I would let him notice I'd done some research. "Oh, really? That's so interesting."  
His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but the grin hadn't left his face. "You knew that, didn't you?"  
"What?" I hid my face behind my wine glass, but didn't break eye contact over the rim of the glass. I couldn't help but smile. He'd caught me red-handed – was I that obvious a liar?  
"Oh, you know what I'm talking about, Emma. I don't often hear a voice dripping with _that_ much surprise."  
I slowly set my glass back on the table, gathering my thoughts before looking up and responding. "Still, though, that doesn't explain why you'd regularly enter into _bar_ fights."  
He shrugged. "It kind of comes with the territory. I don't really mean bar fights, specifically. These things sometimes happen when you're in a large group of men for days and nights on end. Add some alcohol to the mix…"  
"Right, that does make sense," I nodded. "I just wonder… how the hell did you fight them off? I mean –" I lifted my hand, vaguely indicating his size with a gesture. "I get how you'd win against one or two, three maybe, especially with military training, but _six_?"  
Noah sat back in his chair and crossed his right ankle over his left knee. I didn't think I had ever met someone with his degree of confidence – although in a completely different way from his arrogance at the club. There, before he'd come over to talk to me, he had looked like an island in a sea of people who were fawning all over him, but whom he'd shown absolutely zero interest in. He'd been an impenetrable rock. Now, he was more like a steady flame.  
"It's not just military training. Nothing I can talk about, though." An apologetic smile. "Let's just say I've been doing this for a while."  
Well, that story could go one of two ways: either he was an international superspy, or he was an assassin. I watched him for what felt like longer than the three or four seconds it really was, but decided not to press on that further. It was clearly secret. "Did you go see them at the hospital?"  
"Sure," he replied. "Talked to the doctors, the cops that were there, everyone except the men themselves – I guess the police didn't want the situation to escalate." He finished his beer and looked at my almost-empty glass. I'd been drinking quickly, apparently – maybe I was subconsciously more nervous than I felt. "Do you want another?"  
"Sure, thanks." While he was at the bar, I fished my phone out of my purse. Between the messages from friends, app notifications and e-mails was a number of texts from Gabrielle.  
 _HOW IS HE? TELL ME EVERYTHING!  
Is he still hot? Is he a bloody mess? Does he feel bad about it?! So many questions!  
Are you gonna make out?  
EMMA I WANT ANSWERS_  
I chuckled, looked up to see if Noah was coming back anytime soon – he wasn't, he was waiting for the bartender to fill our glasses – and started typing a quick response.  
 _Still hottest guy I've ever seen in real life. Also still super mysterious. Nothing's gonna happen though, he's not even flirting. Text you later!  
_ I'd just put my phone back and started picking at my nails when Noah came back and set the glass of wine in front of me.  
"So, Emma, we've talked about me," he started – although truthfully, we really hadn't talked that much about him, just about the fight – "but all I know about you is your name, that you like my brother's band, and that you're ravishing."  
I looked down, smiling, at my hands and could feel my cheeks warming. _Ravishing._ Who even used that word in the twenty-first century? "Thanks."  
"You're welcome; I'm only speaking the truth. So what do you do?" Noah's intense, attentive gaze stayed on me as he sipped his beer.  
"I'm an assistant at the city government. I do analysis and write reports and stuff." I felt so _boring_ saying that, especially considering _his_ job – which was either already cool, if he was only an army captain, or unbelievably awesome if it was something more than that.  
His lips curled into a clever grin. "I didn't mean what you do for money. I'm trying to figure out what you're _passionate_ about. And it's clearly not your job."  
"Oh, heh." I laughed bashfully. "I uh… I'd really like to be a photographer some day."  
"Ah, see! Knew it!" He leaned forward, delighted. "I've seen enough creative spark to recognize it in others. Have you been doing that for a long time?"

Noah fired question after question at me and not for a single second did he seem to lose interest in my answers. He asked me about my passions, the countries I'd traveled to, college, my friends, my family… and although I hardly gave him everything, something about him made me speak more freely than I would with most people I barely knew. It started with me telling him the facts of how I'd ended up at my dead-end job, but before long I opened up to him about my father's death, seven years ago, and my brother's move abroad not long after.  
He told me about himself, too; he told me he was 29, that he'd basically grown up in Italy and that he'd known his entire life he wanted to join the military, out of a sense of pride and a yearning to defend those he cared about. He told me he had a huge family and that he hadn't always felt welcome or valued, but that eventually he'd found his place.

Another two drinks later I finally checked my phone for the time and was surprised to see three hours had flown by – it felt like we'd only been at the bar for half an hour. It was time for both of us to go home and to bed, albeit reluctantly. Noah paid the check – politely but firmly declining my protests – and helped me into my coat.  
I wasn't sure what to do with myself when we were outside. Should we hug? Do a formal handshake? Just say bye and walk away? _  
_To my relief Noah, ever the image of composure, took action before things could get awkward. _  
_"Goodnight, Emma Sawyer." He leaned in to kiss me on my cheek.  
"Goodnight, Noah Chevalier. I had a great time. Thanks for the drinks," I smiled. When I pulled back, he did so too but slowly, and I'd already turned and started walking away when I heard his voice again.  
"Emma."  
I spun around. He was still standing there, looking at me without smiling but with a mischievous look in his eyes.  
"There's something I want to do before you go."  
I stepped closer. "What do you want to do?"  
He took my hand, pulling me closer to him until I was barely a foot away. Slowly, he brought his hand to my face, tipped my chin up and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. For a second, he looked into my eyes, seemingly searching for permission but mostly building tension until I could hardly keep myself from reaching for his face and pushing myself into him.  
Then, he pressed his lips onto mine, softly at first as a shiver went down my spine but soon increasing pressure and I lost any and all interest in my surroundings – it was electric. It felt as if there were sparkles traveling between our lips, a constant current, and I barely even registered the raindrops falling again. All I wanted in that moment was to stand there with him in the rain and allow myself to be sucked in by his unearthly magnetism.  
But then he stopped and pulled away, a fire dancing in his eyes, and for the briefest moment it looked like his face was _literally_ glowing – but that was probably the reflection of the streetlight on his now-wet skin and it faded as he moved.  
"That's what I wanted to do." He said it softly, earnestly.  
I swallowed. I needed a little more than two seconds to process the most overwhelming kiss I'd ever had. "Uh, yeah, well. You did. I guess."  
He laughed, looking completely relaxed again. Did _nothing_ faze him? "Yeah, I did."  
"So…" I looked away, fiddled with the keys in my coat pocket, looked back at him. "So it looks like this _was_ a date after all."  
He cocked his head to the side. "Are you saying it wasn't a date from the start?" He looked a little hurt and surprised.  
"No, that's, no – I don't know –" I stumbled, but smiled again when I heard him chuckle.  
"I'm just messing with you, Emma. Date or not, I had a good time with you and I'd like to see you again." He paused to tuck that stray lock of hair behind my ear again. "But I think I made that pretty clear."  
"I'd like that," I replied softly, almost straining my neck to look up at him (and here I thought I wasn't that short…). "You know where to find me."  
He nodded. "I'll call you." Then, after a much calmer and shorter but just as inviting kiss, he turned on his heel with another quick "goodnight, Emma" and walked away.


End file.
